Chapter 7
Lochlan
“HAND-FASTED BY ACCIDENT? HERE’S WHAT TO DO NEXT.” —A LEGAL THREAD
Lochlan sat on a barstool, the kind that wobbled if you shifted your weight too far to one side.
Gulls squawked outside of Drift, and the low murmur of conversation filled the small, nautical bar.
It smelled like sea salt, fried food, and old beer.
The kind of place that would soon be crowded with fishermen, tourists, and Videt staff grabbing a quick lunch.
As Lochlan stared at Nia’s text, the familiar surroundings of the bar faded away.
Nia
Thank you.
He had to play it cool. Ordering lunch from three different restaurants was already pushing it—and then four coffees, just to conceal the fact there were a few things he’d noticed before the previous night.
Like how she was usually holding a Goblin Grind coffee cup, or how she’d mentioned her favorite order in an interview a few months back.
Me
You’re welcome.
Lochlan was married, and his wife was desperate to end it. This was, he had to admit, in keeping with the broader themes of his life. No one had wanted him—not his mother, not his family—and he would spend the next six weeks proving to Nia’s father that she didn’t want him, either.
Unless he did something else.
He rubbed his face, still struggling to process the whirlwind of the past twelve hours.
As his beer warmed and the fish and chips cooled, a torrent of thoughts flooded his mind.
An improbable number of his relatives had died in strange accidents.
He was now third in line for the throne, after his brother and sister.
He still hadn’t reached out to his mother. What would he say? I’m sorry for your loss? Why didn’t you tell me? Why do you hate me?
Becket took the seat next to him with a groan, ice pack pressed firmly against his forehead, and Lochlan was thankful for the interruption.
“It’s not every day you get mind-fucked by The Sword,” Becket said. “Should I feel honored?”
“No,” Lochlan answered immediately.
His friend slapped his back, sloshing the beer Lochlan was trying to drink.
“You got fucked the most. There was fucking, right?”
“There was not.”
“Well, at least she’s pretty.”
“Pretty?” She was stunning. Strong. Resilient. Like a cosmo flower that could grow in almost any soil, or a daylily whose robust root system could hold back steep hills and stop erosion.
No, she was a zinnia.
“You’re thinking about plants, aren’t you?”
“Nia, zinnia—she’s like a zinnia flower.
They’re vibrant colors, deepest red to softest pink, and they grow…
” He trailed off, remembering a trip with his father, called in after a wildfire tore through a stretch of land.
Amid the scorched earth, zinnias had already begun to bloom—bright red-orange flowers rising through the ash, their colors defiant against the blackened soil.
He’d stood quietly, watching them sway in the breeze, struck by how something so vivid could thrive in such ruin.
“Make sure you tell her that when you’re trying to convince her to keep you.”
Lochlan blinked and stared at his friend, dumbfounded.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Becket said.
Lochlan had barely thought about keeping her for himself.
“Have you been poking around my present path?”
“Yes, between trying to get your marriage annulled and being mauled by The Sword, I pulled some cards, talked to my ancestors, and looked toward the stars to see where this little soiree is going.”
“And?”
“Dude, I’m kidding.”
Lochlan’s face fell.
“But I see you’re smitten and you haven’t started talking shit about yourself yet,” Becket continued.
“You’re also comparing her to flowers. You’ve never compared me to a flower—kind of jealous, by the way—so you’re clearly not ready to give up on this.
And I would probably kick you in the shin if you did. ”
Lochlan rubbed his face and groaned into his palms. “How can I?”
“What?”
“Keep her.”
When he looked to his friend for answers, he found only annoyance on Becket’s face.
“I didn’t realize you were this hideous creature undeserving of love. Clearly, you can’t keep her.”
“Beck, please.”
“You’re a serious catch, and she would be stupid not to fall for you. I could seriously hurt your family for messing with your head about this stuff.”
It wasn’t Lochlan’s entire family. His mother was cold, his sister cruel, but his brother had never wronged him.
Yes, Thane had been absent when Lochlan was thrust into the role of prince, but not out of malice or disdain.
He’d spent every waking moment fulfilling the duty he’d been born and groomed to perform when the time came for him to become king.
He served in the military and did all he could to prevent the crown from falling, dragging a stagnant monarchy into the future by fostering the type of innovation that had turned the capital into a tech hub.
Thane valued tradition; he valued growth more.
But everything had crumbled just before Lochlan’s eighteenth birthday.
A year after the king died of illness, the Dover Coalition had assumed control over most of the monarchy’s authority.
Thane had been left to piece together what was left of a fraying monarchy stripped of power—meeting with opposition leaders, trying to steady public opinion, anything and everything a crown prince could do to uphold his family’s honor and position.
But their sister hadn’t taken the loss with the same sense of poise and duty.
In a fit of rage, she’d burned down the family greenhouse where Lochlan’s father had once worked.
A phantom ache skittered across his skin, a reminder of the scars that stretched from his ankles to his knees. The burns had been terrible. But they would have been much worse if Thane hadn’t been there to pull him from the fire.
Lochlan wondered what his brother was doing now. Probably out on some secret, high-tech mission, being a badass. He didn’t know what Thane would think of his sudden marriage and temporary wife. But—
“It’s not that,” Lochlan muttered, forcing himself back to the present. “Nia’s sworn off marriage. It wouldn’t matter if I was the most eligible person in the world.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure what happened. Something her father did. All I know is her mother died, and Nia blames it on Wulfric, and the fact that her mother was forced to marry him.”
“And then he forced her to marry you?”
Becket had been brought up to speed earlier on everything that happened at Wulfric’s office.
“Yes.”
“Ouch.”
“I know.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Lochlan pushed his food around, calculating how much work he could put into the diaries the Videt had sent him before he’d see her again. Had she eaten yet? Did she like anything he’d picked out?
Every thought circled back to Nia. She made the world feel lighter, brighter.
“There is something…” Becket’s voice broke Lochlan’s thoughts, low and hoarse. His gaze was distant, as if peering through a fog. “…but it’s still too hazy to see.”
Lochlan watched as Becket blinked himself free of the seer trance.
“What I do know,” Becket said, “is you need to be useful to her. Learn what makes her happy. My mom would kick my stepdad out if he didn’t build her a barn for her chickens or grab something off the top shelf. Ladies love that shit.”
Lochlan snorted. “I don’t think a barn will fix this.”
“Maybe not, but it’s the right kind of place to start. Show her she can rely on you. That marriage isn’t so bad.”
The words kindled like a spark in the dark as Lochlan sat back, the gloom of doubt clearing ever so slightly. Becket was right. His mother and sister had spent years curating the idea that loneliness was Lochlan’s birthright. Nia made him want more.
But if he wanted a chance to keep her, he’d have to earn it.
“What do you have to lose?” Becket said, watching him carefully.
“Nothing.” Lochlan’s lips twitched in the faintest hopeful smile. “Everything.”
And, for the first time, both of these things felt like the truth.